People Help The People
by DoubleKnot-NoSugar-WindowsOpen
Summary: She can't even keep her teeth from chattering, and the tips of her ears are turning blue. "We don't need your pity," she mumbles under her breath. I reply, "I am not showing you pity, just kindness." Modern exploration of a stubborn and homeless Katniss... and the baker's boy: Peeta. (Peeta's POV)
1. Prologue

(Peeta's POV)

My dad coined me as soft spoken from two years old. I would always stop to ask if a person was okay even when it was nothing. I learned and inherited many of these traits from my grandmother. She was dying in a nursing home, many people knew. But I was her most frequent visitor. I would be holding her hand, listening to her stories. No one visited as much as I did.

She died on a hot July day, sunny and bright. Her funeral service was on my sixteenth birthday.

What I missed the most about her was listening to her stories. At 85, she taught me patience and love, but kindness more than anything through her experiences. She humbly explained her mistakes as she matured, some she would tell me shamefully, some she would tell me with pride. The dementia made her repeat some of her stories. Her favorite was when she would hide their allotted food stamps from her mother during WWII.

If she were still alive, she would not approve of how I have treated others. So, I'm bettering myself and taking the initiative of changing that.

My best friend and neighbor, Hersh, says I'm bitter, and then justified it as bitter of rejection. But technically, I never was rejected, because I never spoke up to the girl I have liked since kindergarten.

But once, she noticed me. My mother had just finished screaming at her for digging in our outside garbage cans when she noticed me aglow with the lights of the oven.

She couldn't have known me well. I stuck with the kids who owned shops on my street, and she stuck with the kids in her neighborhood. So how could she?

I watched as her knees buckled and she slid down the tree trunk down to its roots. Her brown braid frazzled and her grey eyes distanced and empty. She looked so weak and tired. She was starving.

In my fourteen-year-old maturing brain, I knew she would die if I didn't help.

So I did. I stood in the middle of the street on that damp spring afternoon and threw her two slightly burnt loaves of bread. As she reached for them, she shoved them under shirt, the heat of the bread branding her skin. But she just crossed her arms around the bread and didn't let go, clinging to the idea that that bread would carry her into the next day.

Four and a half years later, I can still feel the effect she had on me that day. I was her last hope.


	2. Chapter 1

I'm asking my dad for tomorrow off to paint the storefront. Intentionally, it's an extra chore for me. But I love to paint and I am good at it and I need to earn my reputation back for a crime I didn't commit.

As I'm twirling a wedding cake on a turntable, I frost different flowers while my parents deliberate. My father is putting loaves of bread out to rise for the night, while my mother has her hands in the register, counting the till of the day.

"Just finish up that cake and sweep the floor," She explains tiredly. Her glasses rest on the bridge of her nose between her creased eyebrows, and her teeth gritting from the arthritis in her hands. "Use the can of paint in the garage. Remember that we what we look like on the outside reflects what we are on the inside. No scribbles." She says, hinting back to when I was a toddler and would draw with crayons down the hallway walls.

No one really knows I paint beside my father. He winks at me knowingly, and I get back to frosting.

My hands find the old can of paint hidden in the back. The label is faded beyond recognition. So it's really no surprise when I pry off the lid and shake the can- the paint has separated to uselessness.

Irritated with my mother's stinginess, I wipe my brow of the unusual late September sweat. This summer is the hottest it's ever been in 50 years, as says my dad. It shows on the street and the beginning of autumn weather lingers in the same way. As I walk toward the paint store, the A/C unit is buzzing loudly next door at the candy shop. Hersh smiles through the window, his brown hair sticking to his forehead.

The man across the street who owns a vacuum repair shop glares at me from across the road.

I remember when I would walk down these streets and down at the lake, and all the people would just scowl. I made one mistake, and my reputation was shot. People still look at me with distrust, and living in a small town where I know all my neighbors, doesn't help. I had always been the golden boy, baking bread, sitting by the window frosting cookies with the kids in our neighborhood.

But still, the sun shines; pulling the mercury in the thermometer outside_ Addison's Sweets_ to 70° and it is only 10:30 in the morning.

Three shops down, Indigo, the owner of the paint store glowers at me. The bell rings that is atop the door. I'm a regular.

"What can I do for you?" She speaks authoritatively as she steps forward, arms crossed, eyeing my old can of paint. But it's so much more. I know that even though it was years ago, I'm still mentally apologizing once again for what my friends, previous friends, did to her car.

"I'm sorry, again. I was the driver; I didn't throw any of the eggs." She flares her nostrils and signals for me to continue. "I need a can of exterior white paint." I state. The woman, an outspoken 50-something-year-old woman, looks perplexed.

"White?" She doesn't believe it. "No orange or blue? You must be painting," she pauses, "The bakery storefront. Peeta, did you know that that paint started cracking before my husband's feet?"

I force a chuckle with her. She seems to forgive easy, but I am still walking on thin ice.

She is right. It seems that white walls would fit in too well on Main Street, too ordinary. The streets are almost depressing to walk down, and we are in the up kept part of town. It seems with summer leaving and the changes of autumn approaching, everyone is trying to gear themselves for the winter grey. I think the street could use some color. "Indy, I think you're right. What about we brighten things up. Give me a can of blue and green and orange and red…" She smiles widely and gets to work mixing the colors.

My hands get those weird indents from holding the handles of the cans, but eventually and after a few trips of carrying all the cans, and gathering my supplies, I have what I need. I look for inspiration for what to paint. Living in Upstate New York, trees are everywhere. They cover many of the canvases hidden in my room in hundreds of different shades of green. She is painted on some too. That's when I get an idea.

Starting from the bottom of the wall, I sit on the concrete, my khaki shorts riding up, revealing my bare legs to the burning cement. I ignore it, and loose myself into the paint, pulling and dabbing the brush in different directions to spread the scene.

The high sunset I paint shines over the pines and reflects onto the lake to the right-hand corner. Overlapping red with white, purple with pink, flowers start to bloom, and bees begin to buzz.

The hours pass quickly as the sun rises in the sky. A sheen of sweat covers my skin. Hersh grabs me a Gatorade from their fridge to keep me hydrated. But in the late afternoon, I stand to stretch my back, twisting and lifting my arms. But I do this weird hip twist and that's when I see it. A small crowd watching from afar as I paint this new world. Their palms connect as the small group claps at my half-finished work. I grin with pride. Amongst the people, Katniss isn't and I don't know why I was expecting her. I hope she will see it after it's done. It will look better when it is complete anyway.

Still, these people may not be _her_, but they like what I am doing, and I don't let her absence bring me down.

The end product arrives two days later. The storefront is a nice neutral yellow color, brighter and more vibrant the color before. But the real treat is on the side of the building, facing the street. The mural brings pride rushes over me as I look at what I completed. The many days I had spent at the bakery frosting and decorating and painting paid off. It's so vibrant that the surrounding walls almost reflect the scene, illuminating the colors onto the other buildings.

My father loves it, but my mother finds something missing- the name of the Bakery. At the top, invading the sunset, I curve letters with black paint, Mellark Bakery. She tells me it's great, it looks better than the cracking exterior from before.

Autumn slides in, turning the leaves into many different shades of warm colors and spilling them on the road. The atmosphere is bringing in more customers searching for warm pastries. Mom says it is the season, but Dad and I know many of them are curious of the store's exterior.

Smoke billows from chimneys, leaving a thick bitter haze blanketing the buildings. Our cinnamon rolls are selling out before nine in the morning, as they always do around this time.

The homeless people are working hard to find somewhere to keep warm. Each winter they circulate the town for somewhere to migrate to. The group, our town and themselves have named 'the family', is made up of ten to fifteen people. So it is not a horrible burden when they start to sit at the side of the bakery. My Mom tries to shoo them away saying they are loitering and that they leave a bad impression for the bakery. It could be true, but these people need somewhere to go, and it would leave a worse impression of our family kicking them off a public street.

My father and I work late into the nights preparing warm hearty breads for the unfortunates, this sometimes their only meal.

We think people attract here because of the ovens and how their heat slightly warm the air behind the wall they are against. It's true. I remember missing my curfew on a spring night and my parents had locked me out as my punishment. I laid against that wall where it was warmer. Still it was the coldest and worst night sleep of my life.

As I sit one woman with the widest smile and the most missing teeth sits with me, savoring her warm bread trying to unstick it from the roof of her mouth. She reminds me of my grandmother, so I hold her wrinkly grimy hand and listen to her slurred stories.

"Son, did you paint this?" She motions next to her.

I nod meekly as I watch her breath turn into steam. "Yes ma'am I did." I squeeze her hand. "Do you like it?"

"Why certainly!" She exclaims. A look of contentment covering her face. "Do you want to know why we decided to come here this winter?"

"It's warmer from the ovens?"

"It's warmer but not in the way you think. We sit here because, we can look up, and it brings us hope. What you and your father are doing is amazing. And I enjoy the bread. It warms me up!" She laughs. She's beaming, probably excited that there is someone to listen to her. "It is so kind what your family is doing for us. It's amazing, extraordinary. I can speak for all of us, we truly appreciate it." With that statement, it feels like my grandmother is giving me her approval once again.

This goes on for weeks, people making me feel good about myself, building my self-esteem from the low I was in after vandalizing Indigo's car.

* * *

><p>It's the middle of October, the smell of pumpkin pies ribboning the air. I'm sitting on the pavement with an older man named Cliff, who has been a part of the family since the beginning. He is convincing me of a government conspiracy when two familiar bodies show up with backpacks and a leather jacket serving as a blanket.<p>

She is sitting on the far end of the street. Her petite sister snuggles against her.

It's happening again. I'm sweating in the cold, my body debating against the temperature. I get dizzy and my head feels congested. It's such a beautiful mess happening in my mind seeing her. With that same beautiful mysterious face that I have seen so many times before. This is the first time I have seen her since graduation- almost 5 months ago. She always was poor, especially after her father died in a car wreck, but they were never homeless.

"The moon landing was staged… people didn't need to know… aliens." I am only catching a few words, because my attention is on her. The man stops talking to look where I was looking. He pats my leg to get my attention. "You were nice to us." He pauses and smirks with a mouthful of yellowed teeth when he sees Katniss in the distance. "Help her."

That's what I do. My hands are trembling as I put their batch of goods in the oven, almost smoldering my fingers on the racks. Hersh would be so disappointed if he found out I was this close to talking to her and didn't jump on the opportunity. I have avoided and sidestepped her for many years.

I run up the stairs to my bedroom above the bakery and search for the cleanest sweatshirt to bring down. I grab my grey wrestling one from high school that's baggy on me and says my last name in dark bold letters on the back. I rummage through my sock drawer and grab two pairs of white ones, and the comforter off my bed.

Pacing around the vacant bakery floor, I stare at the ever-growing pile of goodies sitting on the large table in the middle of the kitchen. I'm mentally preparing a conversation as I am warming the milk for their hot chocolate, when the oven dings. I would have never thought that today, I would talk to Katniss Everdeen, and I doubt she is thinking the same for me too.

Unlike the loaves I gave her before, they turn out perfect. Nothing blackened from the oven, and nothing to deserve a slap from my mother. They are 'display item worthy'.

I check my reflection in one of the baking sheets as my brother Rye walks down the stairs, his hair disheveled.

"Baby brother, it's late," he yawns as he runs a hand through his hair. "Were you looking at your reflection? Got a date? Realized you got your good looks from me?" Throwing his head back in mock laughter, he struts around the bottom step putting a show on for me, and making a complete foul of his self.

If I tell him what I was about to do, he would do anything in his power to sabotage my chance with Katniss.

He thinks she's cute too. I can't blame him.

I tell him I was making bread. If I start an argument, it's going to make the time between now and talking to her, longer.

"Thought I had something in my teeth, don't get too excited."

He scoffs and makes his way up the stairs to get back to his room.

I grab everything. I hold the bell at the top of the door. I don't want to wake my parents whose bedroom is right above the front entrance.

In about 12 strides, I will be face to face with the girl and her sister who has captured my heart for all these years.

_Don't freak out. You are only talking to the girl you have liked since kindergarten._

She is sitting under the streetlight, the white cascading her face._ Here it goes._ I step into the perimeter of the light reflecting on the sidewalk, and breathe deep.

When her eyes meet mine, my heart feels like it's ready to break my rib cage to escape the pressure.

_This is it._

I announce timidly, "I'm here to perform your welcoming ritual." Her face stays blank, and her eyes shift to the stuff in my hands. "Can you grab the mug out of my left hand?" My voice is shaking and she squints her eyes because she knows what I am doing, but grabs it anyways. "Be careful it's hot."

"Prim, Peeta brought you something to drink." It sounds like an angel has spoken when she says my name. Her voice is like a cello, its tone deep enough to be noticed but doesn't hide within the song. My ribs are breaking. I'm talking to her, and she knows my name.

"Is that hot chocolate?" Prim asks while raising her arms to stretch. She moves her hand to grasp the mug, but Katniss shoos it away.

"Prim, don't be impolite." Her voice is thick, magnificent at the least.

"It's fine and yes that mug is all hot chocolate and all yours." I say, looking toward Prim. Prim takes it questionably.

"Thank you so much. I knew this was the right place to come Katniss." Prim replied.

"We can't accept this," Katniss counters and snatches the cup out of Prim's hand. I don't understand. They need it.

"Why?" I ask, desperately trying to understand. But it hits me as Prim says the words signally the conversation we had in the spring.

"Not again." Prim glares and I know. The bread, all those years ago.

"Okay, then." I say. "Well I am leaving you the decision, Prim, and these two loaves of bread." I pause, just wanting to run away. "Just, just. Keep it all. I'm just going to grab your mug, and I'll be back out." With that, I drop the bread in Prim's lap and leave Katniss with a puzzled blank expression.

My steps are backwards as I walk to the bakery to grab Katniss' cup. Katniss mumbles loud enough for me to hear, as I am halfway to the bakery. "We don't need your pity."

I defend myself as I go. "I'm not showing you pity, just kindness." Footsteps follow me down the road, into the bakery and behind the counter. Prim puts both hands on the counter and shifts her weight forward.

"What?" I snap a little too defensively. She is so skinny, as if she hasn't seen three full meals since the beginning of the summer.

"I was going to say thank you, but I won't if I have to argue with you." She says. The thing about Prim is that she has such an innocent exterior. With soft facial features and blonde hair and blue eyes. And on the inside, she is loyal to her sister, and will do anything to make her better. She is her own kind of beautiful that is completely different from Katniss.

Her brown hair is still down in a braid and her eyes show the pain of a thousand men, but Primrose Everdeen is carefree, relying on her sister for everything. Now the roles reverse and I'm depending on Prim. She was always the one who would lure Katniss to look at the cakes on display in the windows, or dragging her inside to get free cookies we would give out to the younger ones. She has been my wingman since she was in elementary school. Now she is 14 and looks as starved as Katniss did at that age.

"What would we argue about?" I ask.

"I don't know, you just sounded angry." She replies.

"I don't want to fight, I'm just frustrated. It's like there is no way to ever make her happy."

"Makes two of us. But really, we need help. But don't make it obvious to her." She wraps her arm around my side, her fingers and arm radiating the frigid air from sitting out in the cold. The tip of her nose is a deep red and I can hardly stand the idea that she has to go back out there. "Peeta! I can take the cup for you."

I hand her the warm cup to have something to occupy her hands. We make our way back and I tell them goodnight.

As I walk past the alien guy, he gives me thumbs up. I can't help but feel horrible leaving two teenage girls on the sidewalk on a very windy night, while I sleep comfortably in my room. I couldn't help but notice how knotted Katniss' hair looked from the wind as she sat on the north facing side where my mural is. That's where the family has sat for a few weeks now.

See, the great thing about the bakery located on a corner is that we have two outward facing walls for publicity and for the first time, the homeless to lean against. But on the opposing wall, there is an alley between the candy shop and our bakery. It is hardly wide enough to fit a small car through, but big enough for Hersh and me to let our imagination run on this tiny street. The wind isn't as harsh, and actually, that's where my bedroom window is. So I can keep an eye on them, and make sure they are safe.

I hustle back with my hands in my pockets, then pull them out and start picking up their stuff.

"What do _you_ think you are doing?" Katniss snaps, as she tugs on her bright orange backpack that is surprisingly heavy. I hand it back to her, because in my hurry I didn't realize that it is rude to just grab their stuff.

"Sorry." I say bashfully. Usually, I am not intimidated by a woman as I am with her. I am 18 years old, and I still don't feel that I have the right to talk to her. How do I explain their desperation without sounding like I am one that is desperate to help the girls out?

_Take Prim's advice._

"In the alley on the other wall, the wind isn't as rough and it's not so crowded." Prim, is stacking her belongings and holding her hand out for me to help her up.

"Wait Prim." She says.

"What?" Prim quips. "My ears are starting to sting." She turns to me. "Thanks Peeta for so graciously offering your alleyway to us." She utters somewhat sarcastically.

"Fine." She scoffs. Defeated, Katniss picks up her few belongings and puts her back straight. She is not going to show that she is embarrassed of how little she has. That's what I like about her. Never cowers, never ashamed.

We go around the front entrance, avoiding as many people as we can. Then, I sit them against a wall with a window a few feet to their left. I tell them a final goodbye for the night and if they need food, or shelter, or a bathroom, or a person to talk to, they can find me. I'm not far away.

Now that I have my foot on the bottom step of the 'Pursue Katniss Staircase,' I am not going back down now.

* * *

><p>AN: A couple of years ago, I went on a vacation to Bolton Landing, New York. It's right off of Lake George in the northern part of the state. Beautiful small town, touristy in the summer. That happens to be the setting. If you're interested, Google Map the city and explore, I will introduce many locations through actual street names and general layout of the town.


	3. Chapter 2

The bakery is two stories; my father had it designed in the 80s specifically with three bedrooms and two bathrooms above the bakery floor below. My parents didn't expect me; I wasn't planned. So I had to share a room with my oldest brother Luke until he left for college. Now, Luke is married to a woman from Albany, with short blonde hair and the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen. They met in College when he was 20 and got married two and a half years after. They live outside of New York City, where his computer-programming job is. Three years of marriage later, they are expecting their first baby in March.

My brother-less bedroom window conveniently gives me a strained view of the girls on the street. I leave them alone basically the whole time, just going to take their mugs and put them in the dishwasher so I can fill them again. Three days of this pass, and now I am upstairs changing my pants because I had spilled cinnamon butter on them. I put my legs through a pair of corduroy blue pants as I look out the window. Prim is leaving in the direction of the kitchen, a homeless shelter that helps give food and hygiene things to the needy. Katniss doesn't like going with the system, she is a rebel some could say.

I remember her being absent from the English class we shared in our junior year. As I walked past one of the counselors offices during one of our passing periods one day, I heard her explaining why she wasn't in class. The door was cracked just enough to see Brisby's light brown hair and hear _her_ words, but Katniss rarely raised her voice.

That's why I feel bad for Prim when Katniss is pulling on her sleeve to stay with her. Katniss obviously doesn't like to get help from anyone, especially not a place that supplies food and shelter to specific ones with that need.

I know she has gone there a few times. When I helped down there for my high school required community service hours, the owner and cook, Sae, talked about her coming in regularly. I liked that I was helping the community, but I also desperately wanted to catch a glimpse of her while I ladled hot soup into bowls. She didn't show up that week.

When she showed up at my front porch, it almost was a piece of luck. And now, for her sister to leave her alone, I knew this would be my chance. Its lunchtime. The sun is partly out, the wind blowing against the brick of the bakery.

Usually, I work through lunch because that's when the most customers come. But instead, I am standing right in front of the bakery entrance facing the direction of where she is. Moving forward to a few feet away from her, I stand shifting my weight from one leg to the other, waiting for her to look up. She doesn't.

So I start the conversation. "Hey. I was just wondering," I drag my words, "if you need anything?" I ask. After a minute, she answers.

"Somewhere to live would be nice. A job. A mother. A living father." She laughs sadly, telling me without looking at her eyes that she isn't being sarcastic. Her hands grasp the down comforter I gave her from my bed.

Acting almost as embarrassed to talk to me as I am to her, she whispers, "I don't know why I told you that." Her nervousness calms me.

"When my grandmother died and people came up to me and said they were sorry about my loss and all that crap, it didn't help. But I am still going to say, I am sorry about your situation."

She scowls almost saddened, with her eyebrows twisted in a knot, looking at her intertwined fingers. "I get that a lot."

"You understand that I can help you. Even if it's the little stuff. I hope I made that clear."

"Everyone is just sorry," she continues, obviously ignoring what I said. "That's it. It's their way to politely look down at me."

"I would never look down at you." I say. For emphasis, I crouch down and pull the corner of the blanket over my legs while scooting against the wall. We aren't even close to touching but I can feel the warmth radiating under the blanket. As I am looking parallel toward her, I plead to her as if she is a child, "I want to help you."

"You know I can't accept your help! Not after…" Her eyes widen like she has spoken forbidden words.

"After what?" I pacify.

"I think you should go back inside." She says without hesitancy.

"Well I wouldn't do that. It's my break, I know this blanket is warm, and especially, I want to know who you are. The only thing I know for sure about you is that you're stubborn and like to wear a braid in your hair."

She looks up to me and I see the galaxies and universes hidden away in her stare. Her eyes are muted grey colors that are so sporadic that I want to just gape over her face inches away. Her nose crinkles as the blush starts to spread by her ears, intensifying the freckles speckled across her cheeks.

"Why me? If I were you, I wouldn't care to listen."

"And guess what. You aren't me." I explain with a smile. She smiles back at me for the first time and I am kicking myself for not talking with her sooner.

But with some hesitation, she starts. I've listened to many of our visitors' life stories and struggles, but none of them intrigue me as much as hers has. She begins with her father and the time they shared in the woods and how inseparable they were. I knew he died in a car accident, but I never knew it was a collision caused from a drunken man speeding through a red light. Then to their family's starvation caused by her Mother's emptiness and inability to hold a job and Katniss' abstinence to getting help from anyone.

It's only about two minutes a basic rundown of her life that I could hear from Prim. She is sharing it with me and it's nothing exciting. But, I would pay her to read me a textbook just to listen to her voice.

I had these high expectations of her sharing every secret she had to me and her being completely comfortable with me. She pauses in-between each sentence and awkwardly continues to wring her hands.

She looks at me intensely, "You helped me survive. That's what I stopped myself from saying before."

As soon as she says that, it's almost as if I can see a physical weight being lifted off her shoulders, like the world transformed into a liquid and pours down her arms into a puddle of compressed pressure. She is talking about me and how I threw the bread. Probably one of the few times she accepted any help willingly. She sits up straight, more alert than she has been with me and continues what she is saying. "The bread. You saved my family that day. No one else cared. Just another poor girl starving in the streets."

She has that look in her eyes like she did in the rain all those years ago, almost as if there is a gloss over her face. Her teeth are chattering with the cold and it takes every ember in my body to stop myself from scooting over, holding her face in my hands and kissing her right here.

She stops, and I know that I have made her cross some imaginary boundary, as if the words are choking her and she doesn't have a single breath more to cross the finish line. Like I slowly am breaking down her walls and she is regretting having to build them back up. "Peeta, I'm going to find my sister."

It's funny how she says the sentence, almost like she thinks I'm interrogating her and she needs her lawyer of a sister present to answer future questions. Lifting the blanket off and folding her half over my legs, her comment is a clear sign of 'don't follow me'. So instead, I watch as she enters into the kitchen with her effortless walk probably striking an effortless conversation with Sae.

I stay there leaned against the wall and repeatedly hit the back of my head to the wall. Closing my eyes, I rewind our conversation and I don't see any mistakes in what I said. Her smell almost lingers off the spot she sat last and I cling to it as I wait with the stuff. It would be a horrible pitiful thing if someone stole a homeless person's belongings.

I text Hersh. I tell him that I was sitting next to Katniss having a conversation and I now I am sitting with her stuff on the street, when it hit me._ She must have some trust for me if she put me in charge of her belongings_

Occasionally I glance from the front door of the kitchen, to the bakery, to the Candy Store. The shelter stands tall with its two stories similar to the setup of the bakery, where the house is above. I hope Sae's extra bedrooms accommodate to some of the less fortunate.

Hersh obviously gets the text I send, and right on time, at 1:30, he is bolting out the door for his break

As he approaches, he mocks how I am sitting, with a goofy smirk covering my face and the blanket tightly grasped in my fist.

He is the only person who still hung on to me from High School. Even when he found out that I was being stupid with Jake and Daniel and Nathan, the upperclassmen who he had a bad feeling about, he knew the truth of the situation. The guys had the idea to prank people on the street down my street. They were a year older than I was, and they had different definitions for a prank than I had known.

The three of my friends, beside Hersh, lived in the seam. The twins, Daniel and Nathan, lived in a shanty house exactly ten, from her. I liked their friendship, but I liked the fact that I had an excuse to drive or bike or walk by her house every once in a while much more.

We did stupid stuff the night we got in trouble, spray-painting the gutters black over the previous matching paint, letting the air out of the kids' bikes, taking the garbage from some of the garbage cans and putting it by the Shops' front doors. But when they had the idea of egging the old grouchy woman's car who worked at the paint store, that's when we were arrested. I stayed in the car as the driver when Indigo's husband barged out the door with a handgun and a frown on his face. We made the mistake of egging the lieutenant's wife's car. He yelled for us to stop as the two of the three who threw the eggs fled, leaving Jake and me for the blame.

He cuffed us and said he was just going to speak with our parents, but wouldn't press charges. My mom was so mad that her face completely reddened all the way to the tips of her ears. When the man left and Dad had gone back to bed, she slapped me with the back of her hand. She bruised my jawbone. All I remember was a lethargic feeling as she repeatedly hit me. I woke up the next morning on the floor covered in a cold sweat. The welt covering my left cheek went from the bottom of my jaw to my eyelid. I crawled to my bedroom for the rest of the day, until Hersh ditched school at lunch break to sit with me and hold an ice pack to my face.

My mother is much better. She jokes with me and got over the fact that I am not the girl that her and Dad wanted. I'm pretty fantastic, and there are days where I have to remind myself of that to avoid the deep blinding sadness.

I hadn't eaten for at least 12 hours after because the thought of opening my mouth and tugging on the swelled skin made me see stars. It hurt worse than when the kid from Maple View chicken winged me in a wrestling match and pulled my arm out of my socket. I wanted Katniss there to console me, or for her sister to drag her into the bakery so I could hand her a cookie and Katniss could ask me what happened. But she never talked to me in the bakery, and I never made it down the stairs.

I was hopeless and hurting. The physical pain was excruciating, throbbing from both ends of my face. But I couldn't help but feel the dull ache of my parents' disapproval. Behind closed doors, they said that they should have punished me without such palpable consequences. From the physical pain, to the heartache, to the absence of love shown to me, I cried in front of my best friend that day.

He told me to buck up and be strong. He pushed me forward to keep going, but the guilt ate at me for months. And if the self-hatred wasn't enough, the boys I was with that night said it was my idea. And the town hated me. I knew I needed more loyal friends, so I stuck with Hersh.

So when he stands in front of me, kicking the blanket off my legs, I kick him in the shin in an act of affection.

"Ouch Peet!" He sits on his heels trying to fit his phone in his pocket. "You finally did it. I saw her walking with your sweatshirt on. What did you do you filthy animal?" He asks with a smirk, suppressing a wink.

"It's not like that. I gave them some stuff to keep warm." I explain flatly.

"Uh- huh." He says completely unconvinced. "Is this an attempt to make her fall in love with you?" He swoons at me.

"I'm just helping."

"Kinky. Wait, hold on." He maneuvers his phone out of his pocket, pushes all kinds of buttons on the calculator app as if he is making a mathematical breakthrough, and then looks up at me. "I just did the calculations, and I've been able to determine that you're full of crap."

And he's right. It is a desperate attempt to win her affections, and it goes back to my parents who are probably wondering what I am doing, ditching work because I like this girl who maybe doesn't even like me back.

"But really, I peeked out the window a couple of minutes ago and you were talking to her. You almost crapped your pants I'm guessing. Get this, what if she likes you too?"

I can think of all the times when I was younger, imagining the first time I held her hand, hugged her, kissed her. But I always was the one to start it.

I can see it now. Her walking back with the sleeves of my sweatshirt flapping over her hands with the rare smile that is just for me because she finally got with Peeta Mellark, the Baker's boy. She puts her head in my lap as I play with her hair. Her falling asleep and turning over onto her back with the imprint from my corduroy pants on her cheek.


	4. Chapter 3

I ask repeatedly if they want anything else during her stay at _Alley de Mellark_, she rejects my help every time. When I am not attempting to cater to her every need, I am helping the_ family_. If _I _am not helping, my Dad is out offering buttered bread and cinnamon rolls to them in the mornings.

He always shows special concern to Katniss, and more so to Prim.

My Dad actually has a soft spot for Prim more so than Katniss. She came into the bakery with her Dad when he was alive and she just had started kindergarten. The display glass would be covered in her little fingerprints from pointing at all the treats. Usually this would get him angry, but who wouldn't fall for her bright blue eyes and her pouty little lips?

Always, she said please and thank you to my Dad and had the biggest gaze switching from the pastries to her dad to mine. Her Dad would chuckle and buy a sugar cookie for her and a cinnamon roll with cream cheese frosting for himself. I think those were his favorite. The two Dads would make small talk as Prim ate her cookie carefully, licking the pink frosting off her fingers after she finished.

"The girls have been out there for weeks. I wonder why she doesn't have a job by now." I say.

"Some people just need some motivation. There are a few new additions to _the family_ recently. Good thing we are burning the midnight oil to give them something to eat!" He exclaims with this unusual excitement.

As he says how hard we are working, it makes me think that Katniss would be a good worker. How is Katniss not working? She is so smart. In High School, she took every class offered, at the highest level. Hersh had her in his chemistry class, and apparently, she was always the one to ruin the curve. What she lacks in charisma, she excels with intelligence.

She would be breaking a tradition if we hired her, but as I have realized, some rules are meant to be broken. We have only had family working behind the display shelf, bakery tradition. So as I knead the dough for sourdough bread after my mother is asleep, I pop the idea.

"I want to have Katniss work in the bakery. There would be no extra costs for another worker, just my wage goes to her- she works my shifts. She is smart enough to understand proportions and kind enough to deal with customers in the front and beautiful enough to match up to the Mellark characteristic and I think she would be a good addition-."

"Hey there. You are rambling and murdering the dough." Looking down, I see that I have torn the dough into a million overstretched pieces. I grit my teeth as I attempt to mush it together again. There is enough time before he answers the question for me to put the dough into a pan to let rise.

As he takes a breath, I cringe. "You would have to ask Mom. She would like the idea that there wouldn't be any dip in profit, but we haven't had anyone work here that doesn't hold the Mellark name. Unless…" He nudges me in the shoulder, and I can feel the blush creeping on my cheeks.

He's right. When my Dad opened the bakery, it was just my parents and my dad's two brothers. George died before I was born and Hank moved to the west coast, leaving my parents to man the shop.

My Mom doesn't know is that she really is a smart girl. _The woman I want to marry._ Even if she isn't of elite status my Mom seems to crave in her children's spouses, I'm old enough to not need my mother's blessing.

In our town, there are the semi-slums and the wealthy class. No in-between. My family is at the lower end of the wealthy, and Katniss's family is in the higher end of the slums.

Yes, she didn't grow up on Main Street, and no, she doesn't have blonde hair and blue eyes like what is the normal here. But my mother was a slum girl too. The blonde hair hides it, but her brown eyes don't.

"Very funny," I tell my dad about the marriage proposal. "Maybe someday. Right now Prim likes me more." I chuckle to myself as I wash my hands with droopy eyelids. "Speaking of my bride to be," I say sarcastically, "I'm going to check on them before I go to bed. It's supposed to be below freezing tonight. Anything you can think that I can do?"

"Actually." His face, similar to mine, takes on an inquisitive look. The wrinkles dipping around his mouth and on his forehead crunch together as he calculates the costs of what he is about to suggest. With Rye and Luke either at college or married, my father and I have grown closer. He has known about my affection for Katniss since the very day I came home from school and told him about what saw during recess across the schoolyard.

He rummages around the utility closet underneath the staircase that we rarely go in. It has surplus flour and sugar and spices that we won't need to get out for a few weeks because we just replaced our stock of supply. "Okay Peeta, don't get excited. But, maybe. They could sleep here? We can blow up a mattress and put it on the floor and it would be much warmer than sleeping out there."

I got to hand it to him. He usually isn't one to sneak something like this past Mom. But now that I think about it, she rarely is in the kitchen so she probably wouldn't even find them, especially if it's just for the night. "It's risky. Do you think…?"

"We could make it work." He says with confidence. "Do you want to do this? It's almost eleven o'clock."

I smile big and grab the broom out to sweep the flour off the floor where they will be sleeping. There are bins, containers, tables, and chairs stacked in a uniform pile in the middle that I push to the side.

I can't help the gnawing feeling growing in the bottom of my stomach. Is this too much?

I fall asleep on the tiled floor with that thought.


	5. Chapter 4

I wake up disoriented sometime in the middle of the night. As I cough through the floured air and navigate in the dark, I pull the beaded chain on the light bulb above my head. Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I realize that the girls have been left outside all night. I jump up and hit my head on the sloped ceiling above me.

I am trying to see through my starry blackened vision. I can't find a wall to lean against as I try to regain my balance. The back of my head grazes a metal shelf, and I hold on. I really can't see. I stand there with my other hand on a table at waist height to even out my footing as the world spins. The pain throbs behind my eyes, but I ignore it.

Did I wake anyone upstairs? How can they sleep knowing that there are people starving and freezing right outside our door? I do it all time so I shrug off their indifference.

A few minutes pass and I can navigate myself to the door and through my thoughts. On the center table, that is the size of about four card tables on stilts put together, is a pile of neatly folded blankets and pillows. Against the table is a blown air mattress that will very easily fit both girls, and another. I smile at my Dad's actions and feel guilty that I slept through many hours of the night in a warm room.

As quietly as I can, I finish. I fit the mattress in the closet and lay the blankets on, and fluff the pillows. It only takes about ten minutes, but it is a decent sleeping space in comparison to where they are now.

Before I know it, I am sitting at the bench next to the back door double knotting my shoelaces. I grab my jacket that is lined with fur, and put both arms through and zip it up to my neck.

The girls sit on the side where there are no other sleepers, so no one will know that the Everdeen sisters are getting shelter.

They are both asleep like anyone would be at this time. I don't know if it's physically possible to sleep with chattering teeth, but she doing it. A rosy red color covers her cheeks, along with the tip of her nose. Her legs are in a soaking pair of pants. The blanket is folded twice to keep Prim warm. Easily, it could cover them both but instead she is looking out for her sister. She is the most selfless person I know.

Outside the clouds have been dropping snow- with about 6 inches of snow slush already.

I walk past Katniss and shake Prim's leg softly, but my cold fingers against her skin are enough to wake her.

"What?" She says with a thick voice.

Her sister stays as she is, and I lean down to whisper in her ear. "It's Peeta; do you want to sleep inside? Sweetheart, it's cold." She nods half asleep and slowly lifts her head up from Katniss' lap.

"Can you wake her up?" She looks in Katniss' direction and I nod. I show Prim to where she is going to sleep. She grins when I open the door and the warm air touches her skin.

"Take two steps forward, past the stairs, turn right and follow the wall until you feel a door. It's a push door, don't try to pull." I whisper. She nods and I don't blame her for not wanting to talk. The air is so frigid that with each breath, all the moisture in my lungs freezes.

She blindly navigates through the dark and I listen for the door to open to signal she found the room. Turning the corner, I see Katniss opening her eyes.

She is patting all around sloppily in the dark trying to feel for Prim. She grits her teeth in pain as her numb fingers hit the concrete. "Where did you take her?" She begins with confusion. "Prim?"

"Hey. Hey. Katniss. She is inside. You can go inside too."

"What?" She whines.

She can't even keep her teeth from chattering, and the tips of her ears are turning blue. Her movements are slow and labored, and she seems confused. It's almost like she can't focus her eyes on one thing.

"I'm sorry." I mouth. "Can I please get you inside before you go into severe hypothermia?" She looks down and slowly touches her fingers to her goose bumps that have crawled up her arms. Tilting her head against the wall to look to me, I know I have to get her inside as fast as possible.

She's doesn't even put up a fight when I push my hands underneath the bottom of her boney thighs and scoop her up. I can't get over how cold she feels as her arms fall to her sides weakly as her face leans against my chest. I bend down to grab her jacket, draping it over her arms.

* * *

><p>The air inside hits my face and I groan inwardly. It feels good.<p>

Everything looks the same as when I brought in Prim a few minutes before, but now I have to guide myself. Carefully and slowly, I lay Katniss next to Prim, the air mattress sinking as I set her tiny weight on.

Her clothes are damp and I don't want to strip her, but it doesn't seem like I have a choice. I shake her arm to have her take off her clothes, but she doesn't flinch. She's unconscious.

So I urgently wake up Prim. She tells me to go upstairs to grab a pair of sweatpants that would fit. Her other intention is that she is going to strip her sister's pants so I don't have to. If I had a sister who was unconscious with a male stranger happy to take her pants off, I wouldn't let that happen either. Prim is a good caretaker - I respect her for that.

I go up the stairs, knowing I would be dead if my Mother found them occupying our home.

Going back down, Prim has her leg out of one side of her pants and I help her with the other leg. I am careful to keep my eyes on Prim's face, to show her I have good intentions. The tips of my fingers run against her thigh.

"She's really cold. My Mother said that when she is treating patients at the hospital with hypothermia, they run warm fluids, but we don't have those. Do you have any heated blankets or rice bags? The ones that you put in the microwave?" I nod as I pull the dry pants over her backside.

I pop one of the rice bags in the microwave, it's about the size of a notebook and as thick as a dictionary. "Hey Prim," I whisper in the crack between the doorframe and the door. Tossing my phone to her, I add, "Look up where is the best place to put them. Google it."

She unlocks my phone and with a trip up the stairs again, I hear a door open at the end. I ignore it as I run to grab a warm sweatshirt and a big comforter off Rye's bed. He goes to Clarkson University 100 miles north and doesn't come to visit besides on his breaks between quarters. He left a few weeks ago.

"What are you doing up?" I stop what I'm doing and face the voice. My Mother stands behind with a crinkle between her eyebrows, probably wondering why I am being so loud. My shoulders tense as I think of a reason.

"Uhh… I am helping some of the people outside. It is below freezing and snowing." She looks at me with squinting eyes, trying to believe my story.

"Okay, I am just going to check downstairs." I turn my back away from her and open my eyes wide.

The door is open. Prim and Katniss are in the closet right by the door. The rice bag is in the microwave.

"Hey Mom, wait. I have a question for you." She raises her eyebrows and softens her expression.

My heart starts to beat into my throat. "Could I have Katniss work my shifts sometime? It won't affect production or profit at all." I continue to explain it as calmly as possible.

"You're going to teach her?" She asks.

I nod my head.

"Alright. But don't say I never did anything for you. But I don't want her working the register; I don't want all the other homeless thinking they can get hired."

"Thank you so much Mom." I jump to my feet, thankful for the taller ceiling, and uncharacteristically hug her. Then I bolt down the stairs skipping every other step.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

"I forgot to shut the back door." I turn to my left and pretend to push the door shut and pivot to the closet door and whisper for Prim to shut it and stay quiet. She slowly closes the door with tiptoe volume. I dart to the microwave and open and close it for the timer to turn off.

Her sluggish footfalls down the flight of stairs allow me time to take a few deep breaths. I take a quick look over the dark bakery and there is nothing unusual to the eye, only the light peering under the pantry door.

Taking one long stride, I open the door only an inch and mouth "Light… off!" She gets it and pulls the cord turning it off.

I slick my hair back pointlessly and begin to pop my knuckles then shove them in my back pockets.

She puts both feet on the bakery floor and switches the light switch on. With a quick walk around, she doesn't see anything suspicious. "What are you doing?"

"Couldn't sleep?" I tell her with a smirk and a crooked jaw.

"Uh-huh." She says unconvinced. "Just be quiet, I have to wake up early tomorrow morning and your dad doesn't seem to realize that. I'm sleeping on the couch. Your Dad is snoring." I nervously laugh because now I can hear the rhythmic loud snores coming from above. "Goodnight." She says flatly.

"Goodnight."

I wait for her to shut the door before opening the door.

Prim lays there completely conformed to her sister. She lets out a breath that looks like she has been holding in.

Handing her the big pack, she puts it between Katniss's legs. I put one under her body and hold the other to the back of her neck.

She continues what she was saying minutes ago. "It says we are supposed to put it in between her legs, and to keep her head warm." I think it makes her uncomfortable talking about her sister's body.

"I will hold her from this side and you the other." Prim suggests. I agree and suppress the grin forming on my lips. Prim lies to the back of her, Katniss's back against her stomach. I slowly lay down on my side, our foreheads about a foot apart. I hold the back of her neck with the pack between our skins, and rub the hair off her forehead.

It's strange to be so physically close to someone who's so distant. Katniss might as well be back on the street, or in her bed at home, or the moon right now, she'd be no harder to reach. It's a different kind of loneliness.

Prim hands me my phone and I push the home button, 3:14. She gets up and rearranges the blankets over her sister and I tuck them under, cocooning her tightly with multiple blankets. Her face is the only thing visible; her throat even has a scarf wrapped around it. I put my hand to her forehead and she's already beginning to warm.

On that Saturday night, with about 12 inches and 10 layers between us, Katniss and I, and Prim, share a bed.


	6. Chapter 5

I wake up smiling when I realize that I am sleeping next to a woman, who thankfully is warm to touch. I have my arms strewed over her and my hand is lying on Prim's cheek. It's a Sunday morning- the bakery is closed, so I can sleep in. Rearranging my arms so they partially wrap around my body, I attempt to give her some space but unconsciously she pulls me closer, unwilling to let go. She mumbles my name and it gives me shivers.

I can't help smiling bigger.

As I am reveling in this warmth, I hear light metal clanging, so quiet that I wouldn't hear it if I wasn't already listening. Happily, I don't have to worry about my mother for this morning. The last Sunday of every month, my mother and her two sisters meet up at their brother's house- a two and a half hour drive away-to spend the day together and play a game called Pinochle. It's been a tradition for my Mom since her Dad died. She usually leaves around now, so it must be her looking for the keys hanging on the key ring by the back door.

The door clicks shuts and a minute later, the engine rolls over on our Camry and my mother drives away without any goodbyes, leaving only my Dad sleeping upstairs and me with two young girls beside me, hidden in a supply closet.

This is getting sketchier as it goes.

I fall back asleep with a heart fluttering its wings and readying to fly right out of my chest.

I wake up a few hours later, inadvertently running my hand over her cheek with the back of my fingers.

She jumps at my touch and I panic. Her eyes widen and her nostril flares as if she's a bear that I just woke up out of hibernation. I grab at the doorknob and run over my feet with how fast I am moving.

As I crouch behind the display counter I see through the display glass that her arms are crossed, holding onto the opposite arm. She is making big uncomfortable footsteps toward me. _If I can see her, she can see me._

"PEETA MELLARK!"

As she approaches, I pull my feet under me, so I'm bracing myself in the fetal position on the floor. I don't really know what to expect. Either she is going to kick me or scream or just walk out of the house without a word.

She moves closer, slowly with the quietest footsteps, like she is floating. She bends down to me and the socks filled with rice explode when they drop from between her arms.

"What the-" She says in disgust. The rice blankets the floor in a bright white sheet. She just looks at me and to the floor repeatedly, trying to piece things together.

"Do you remember anything about last night?" I get up, trying not to awaken her anger toward me as I grab the broom to clean up the rice. I got up too fast, so where I hit my head night begins to throb behind my eyes.

Her hair is tucked under the hood, loose hairs frazzled around her face. Her body straightens and I know that she takes it a completely different way, looking down at my clothing on her body.

"Why don't I remember?" She says in anger.

"Well you were really cold so I took Prim and you and put you in the closet."

"Oh." She says. "So this is what you do." She patronizes. "Wait for me to get desperate, and do as you please?" She throws the ball totally in left field, and I catch it without a mitt.

"What are you talking about?" I'm grasping a handful of my shirt and I feel helpless. Does she know what happened? Does she know not know that she almost died if it weren't for Prim and I? "Whatever you think happened," I start carefully, "didn't."

She takes a deep breath as she closes her eyes like she can just bid for a different setting with her shut eyes and go somewhere else. "Then, why am I wearing these?" She pulls the hood off and her once hidden hair is a true matted mess.

"Just sit at a table in the front and I will explain."

"No." She demands.

"Yes and be quiet! Your sister is sleeping." I walk past her before I can see her expression and nearly slip on the dry rice under my bare feet. "Can you grab the broom? You made a mess."

I go upstairs and grab a hairbrush as I hear the rice pouring into the garbage can. I grin at myself.

I don't really care what she looks like, but even _I _hate going without showering or combing my hair. It's a weak attempt of me just giving her a brush, but still I place the brush in the downstairs public bathroom before talking to her.

I show her to the bathroom and she actually thanks me.

She walks out and looks better. She must have splashed water on her face and used the brush to braid her hair down her back and that's when I get the idea that I can ask her if she wants a shower. I can get her clothes from our garage that were my mother's so they can fit her. My Mom has a baker for a husband; I can't say I was surprised that her high school wardrobe doesn't fit.

After explaining what happened last night, I suggest her getting a shower.

She settles with the idea and I show her to my bathroom. The shower has pine scented soaps and nothing for women but she says she doesn't care if she smells like me. My body shivers at the comment but I ignore it.

I show her how to work the shower and then she shoves me out.

I go downstairs, grab some risen dough, and melt butter and cinnamon sugar. One of the first recipes I learned from my Dad was something called Monkey bread. It's a giant cinnamon roll with pecans. So I roll the dough into golf balls size balls and roll them in the melted butter and then through the dry ingredients. The Bundt pan is filled with them and soon enough they go into the oven. I make three omelets with what I find downstairs and put Prim's in the fridge for when she wakes up.

My Dad comes down and tells me to be quieter because this is his only day to sleep in. "Why is the shower going?" I raise my eyebrows and he gets the idea.

"Yeah. Katniss needed a shower."

"Teach her some of the basics to baking. If you want her to work here, give her basic lessons." He starts his way back up the stairs, "Don't do anything stupid." He warns.

I run barefoot through the snow to the garage and go through some of the bins until I find some clothes that could fit her and even a shirt for Prim.

I go to my room and change into clean clothes for myself- dark jeans and a loose green t-shirt from a Jason Mraz's tour.

I am walking by the bathroom door when I hear her singing in the shower.

_Raindrops keep falling on my head._

_But that doesn't mean my eyes will soon be turning red_

_Crying's not for me_

Katniss is singing in the shower. Her voice isn't that strained ugly rough noise that comes out of my mouth when I sing. It's velvet escaping her lips and I want to turn off the world and listen. The bread in the oven can burn if it means I can listen.

_It won't be long till happiness_

_Steps up to greet me_


	7. Chapter 6

Why such the happy song? I put my ear to the door and form a cup with my hands to intensify the sound. But she doesn't sing any more words, probably sensing that she is in my shower. The water shuts off and I knock softly.

"How do you want me to give you these clothes?" I would hate to have her feel uncomfortable.

"Um. Okay. Just sit them- No open the door- Hmm." I smile at her pureness. All the times Rye had snuck different women into our house, they had no problem with partial nudity. Not that I expect that from Katniss.

"What about I open the door just a crack; and you put the clothes on the floor." She finally suggests.

"Okay." I put them in a neat folded pile and intentionally walk down the stairs with heavy feet.

Minutes later, she walks down with slumped shoulders and dripping hair cascading down them. The clothes I grabbed her fit well. My Mother is a couple of inches shorter so the shirt is a little small showing about a half-inch of her tiny stomach. She is decorated with a deeper scowl.

"What?" I ask.

"My hair tie snapped."

"I have some rubber bands." She straightens her posture and walks toward my fingers stretching the band in my hands.

I pull it behind my back. "Not yet." I toy. "You have to work for it." She chews on her cheek as she thinks and I clarify. "Katniss. Baking. Can I teach you?"

"Fair enough." I tiptoe to the closet that Primrose is sleeping in and see that she is still asleep. I tell Katniss to whisper so her sister can get some sleep. "What is that smell? It smells, really good."

I spread a toothy grin across my face. "Oh! I made you breakfast. I think it might be cold ...Sorry." She smiles for the first time this morning as I put the plates in the microwave. "We can start after we eat."

She sits at a table in the front, one in clear view to the street windows. We eat our food while watching the rising sun in silence. Obviously, she is trying to persuade me to just give her a rubber band that is on my wrist as she picks at her hair and doesn't stop twirling it between her fingers.

"I like your hair down." I compliment, breaking the comfortable silence. As it dries, it has started to curl into chocolate waves half down her back and some in front. Realizing I have crossed another boundary, I change the subject. "So you ready?"

I stand, guiding her through the hallway back to the bakery.

"So what do you want to make?" I ask.

"Bread."

"Any specifics?"

"Maybe yeast, flour?" She deadpans.

"Funny." I say casually. "So just a basic loaf?"

"Uh-huh." Katniss watches as I pull out different measuring spoons from the bottom of a drawer. We don't use measuring things because everyone that works here has memorized our recipes by eye. But if I want her to get a feel for how specific the measurements have to be for the dough to rise, let alone taste good, I need them. She still watches me as I get the flour and yeast and other bowls, spoons and ingredients.

"Well," I say, "What are you waiting for?" She looks startled as if she has never baked before. I pour flour into a measuring cup, leveling it off with a knife and pouring it into the bowl. "Okay your turn. Fill it." She nods, following my order.

Ingredient after ingredient, order after order, I teach her. Sift the flour before mixing. How to separate egg yolks. What the best temperature to bake at is. Katniss stays quiet, but I can tell she likes how precise the measurements have to be for it to work right.

She gets a hang of most of it besides kneading the dough. I stand beside her with my shoulder against her shoulder. I don't press against her. She smells like my Mom and I, which truly is not a smell that mingles often.

"Okay, okay. I got it." She pushes me away and I show her how much flour to coat her hands with so it doesn't stick. I sit at a stool frosting, as she puts the dough into the pan.

"This isn't too hard. It kind of…makes you forget."

"It does." I never want to forget this day. If I have a million more moments with Katniss, or if she just disappears, this will be my favorite for the fact that it is my first.

Hersh texts me a few times, but I ignore all of them. I thank a God above for letting my Dad sleep in or his idea to let his son be.

We sit at our same table in the front, and talk over our dirty dishes and allow the silence when we didn't have anything to say.

"Hair tie." She demands with her palm up.

I laugh, because I completely forgot that was our bargaining chip.

I lift my arms in a stretch letting out a yawn that pops my ears and gives me shivers down my arms.

I pull it off my wrist and she quickly braids it down the side. I watch.

"This isn't a date." She states flatly when she gets to the end of her braid.

Of course it's not- maybe to her standards. But if this was a first date, I would say that it went (is going) well. In High school, before the trick with the eggs with my friends, I accidentally asked Bristol out. Bristol Slate. Blond hair snob. With Mr. Barker's seating chart, we sat next to the other in junior math. She said something about knowing that I liked Katniss, and I panicked.

If Katniss was to find out I liked her, it would be coming from me. So I asked her out as a cover to liking Katniss.

I only had my license for a few months and hardly had any extra cash, so we ate a table in the far back of Applebee's. It was a horrible blur and the only thing I remember about it was that they gave me the wrong type of hot wings and that she went on and on about her ex-boyfriend Quentin.

That was my first date, but it really didn't go well. I dropped her off back at her house. I knew it was the polite thing to walk her to the door. She put the key in the lock and leaned in to kiss me. I turned my neck, landing the red lipstick on my jaw. I hated how it felt.

Even then, my loyalty was to Katniss. Which in retrospect was dumb when I hadn't spoken a word to her.

Now I can't say that, I am sitting alone with Katniss, having a decent conversation, technically at a restaurant, alone. _It's not a date._ It's just two friends, well landlord and tenant, inside, sitting at a table eating by the other, alone.

_It's not a date. _

"Of course not." I agree, as if it is the most obvious statement in the world. "And hey. You can shower here, sleep in our closet with your sister, and eat our food. We don't care."

She says "Thank you," so meekly that I can't see through to the old Katniss a few weeks ago that yelled at me that they weren't a charity case.

I reach for her hand and she doesn't refuse. "So if you need help financially, I can help you and Primrose."

"Really Peeta." She reappears with her stubbornness and pulls her hand out from mine. "I don't want special treatment."

She storms out of the kitchen to her sister.

I leave her there.

I offer her help, and she can't even accept the simple unfinished idea of getting help. I really have to talk to Prim. But she is asleep and with the reason for my troubles now.

I turn to my second best for relationship help, who lives next door.

Walking toward the back door, I stand on my left foot and peek my head into the closet. "Hey, I am going one store down. Stay or leave. I don't care."

With a sense of nobility and self-hatred, I take long strides to the back door of the Addison residence, opening the door without a knock. It's about 10 o'clock in the morning and I know that I will be waking my best friend up on this lazy Sunday morning.

Ruth is sitting with her husband Henry on the top floor at the kitchen. Their house is identical to our layout, just flipped.

"Morning son! How did you sleep?" Ruth asks. She has always treated me well.

"Fine and dandy." I say. "And you, Mrs. Addison?"

"Being proper this morning," she states with a chuckle, as if I am showing her the highest amount of flattery. "Good."

"Is Hersh still sleeping?" When the question leaves my mouth, I know it doesn't need answering. "I'm just going to, go." I say with my fingers pointing down the hallway.

Hersh somehow scored the second biggest bedroom, with his little brother in the room I have in my house.

In Hersh's green room, with the baseball posters everywhere and different baseball memorabilia from high school bats, to hats, shirts, and a baseball signed by The Great Bambino himself (Not really, it's a Sandlot gag gift), he lays in his bed completely dead to the world.

"Hey." I shake him and he hardly flinches. I get close to his ear and scream. "Hey! It's time to wake up! New shipment of Heath bars."

"Stop Peeta." He moans, dragging his words with his halfhearted slumber. "We never get deliveries on a Sunday."

"Fine. Well wake up and get moving. Come to my house when you are able to talk." I say, "Wow look at that. You can talk. Get up now." He's groaning. "It's getting harder and harder to get you up."

"That's what she said." He smiles, and I can't help myself from smiling also.

"I need your help, and you're going to like it." I say, tugging at the blankets that cover him.

"So what is it? Baseball, chocolate ice cream? Cinnamon Rolls? Women?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

I walk with him down to the grocery store to get some stuff for what I am doing today. We really could have driven, but it's only a fifteen-minute walk and it feels good to keep moving.


	8. Chapter 7

Hersh takes his stride to the right of me, playing with his phone checking the score on the playoff game.

"So Seahawks and Broncos. Who are we rooting for?" I ask. I haven't been following the season as much as the last. But my Uncle lives in Washington State and he started the bakery business, so I am giving my loyalty to Seattle.

"Broncos." I have always loved Texans. The cheerleaders? Have you seen that show about the cheerleaders?" I shake my head, my mouth in the shape of an upside down U. "You are missing out."

I enjoy the playful banter between us. It's comfortable. We both have worked a lot lately, so I relish the little time we have together.

I really want to ask him about Katniss. I don't think he knows anything about what happened.

It's some time past noon, the sky is erupting in a yellow glow, and the trees slowly rustling in the frosty wind. We ask Bill, the owner of the store if we could borrow the cart to take back the food we bought to the bakery because we didn't bring the car. He reluctantly agrees. I can feel his eyes on the back of my neck as Hersh starts down the street, kicking with one foot and standing on the lower bar underneath the cart and starts to zoom down the street. I try to keep up and Bill shakes his head. I just shrug.

I am still debating between keeping my morning to myself and telling him what has been going on.

We get out of earshot from the storeowner when Hersh asks the question I have waited for: "Why are you doing this?"

I don't give him an audible answer. He can read me like a book.

"Sure Peet." I switch him, so now I am pushing the cart in the cold. I adjust my scarf. "Do I have to help you make dinner?" He asks.

"February 15th, who ran around town for hours trying to find pink tulips that you thought you desperately needed for date, even though you knew that right after Valentine's Day every freaking flower would be sold out?" I argue.

"You use that against me every time! Fine. But this is the last time you can guilt me into doing your silly chores with that."

We walk through the people sitting against the bakery. I almost feel bad because they have nothing to eat, and we are pushing a cart full of food. But I just smile knowingly. They will like what is coming this evening. Their wide eyes will be looking down at the food on their plates in just a couple of hours.

I unlock the door and start taking the food out of the grocery bags and placing it along the counters, when I jolt my neck to the table Katniss and I sat at only hours ago. It's completely clean with our dishes in the sink, stacked nicely, and it's obviously been wiped down.

I'm not surprised when the closet that we slept in looks exactly like it should when we have the restaurant inspection. No girls hiding in the closets and completely spotless.

For this dinner, it's going to be simple and more for quantity than quality.

Hersh looks up a spaghetti sauce recipe on his phone, and then begins to pull tomatoes and spices and beef and a large pot off the counter.

I start with the noodles, boiling the water and taking noodles out of the multiple boxes. Then, I start with the garlic bread that, I know, will taste great if I can make it like my Dad does.

I had thought of using what we have in the kitchen, but instead opted to buying my own ingredients. That is one less thing that my mom can yell at me about when she gets back from pinochle tomorrow morning.

While the noodles are cooking, the sun is setting and the French bread loaves are almost done.

"I have made you into a nice homemaker." I explain sarcastically to Hersh who looks at me with a scowl. He already spilled tomato sauce over the burner and set off the fire alarm. He owes me once again because I stopped the commercial sprinklers from soaking us.

My dad comes downstairs later. After I explain what we are doing, he likes my idea. He helps by setting up extra tables in the front of the bakery and directing a confused group of homeless people through the back door to wash their hands.

At about 5' o'clock, we are inviting men and women and children to take their seat. There are about twenty people seated, but we are missing two.

"Hey! Where's Katniss and Prim?" My dad asks as he scans the small crowd of people eagerly waiting for a hot dinner on a cold December evening.

"I was too generous." I grumble.

We are walking around putting plastic forks and spoons at each place setting. He stops. "She is going to be a treacherous hike my son, but I am not saying that you won't enjoy the view at the end. It is going to be worth it."

I nod at his words and start to head back to the kitchen for more silverware when he stops me. "I can hold down the fort. Go find her. Crazy Cliff said that he saw the girls at Sae's." He directs and I am out the door by the time I can get my coat and scarf adjusted.

I take the back door and buzz past where they usually sit. It's vacant.

My feet hardly grip the sidewalk with the glossy black ice covering the paths. The streetlights illuminate the block in a festive way, the light reflecting off each mirrored surface. The snow is starting to flurry once again, making me more and more worried that Katniss might be stubbornly waiting in the cold.

With careful steps, I get to Sae's and the bell on the door rings. I walk into the dinnertime rush of about eight people, three of them completely hammered already, their beards collecting the clam chowder Sae must have made tonight.

With a quick sweep of the place, I know Katniss isn't here- but Prim is. Her forehead rests against the tabletop, her bowl of chowder untouched.

I can't tell if she is asleep or not.

Slowly, I walk up to her and rub her back to wake her up.

"I'm up, I'm up!" She flails her arms like the drunks, knocking her bowl of soup down the table, clinging with the bowl of a grouchy old woman.

"Hey. What are you doing here?" I ask. "I never got to thank you for helping me with your sister last night."

She wipes the sleep out of her eyes. "Wait, you want to thank me? Peeta, I think you have this backwards."

I pull out the chair next to her. "Hey, you know how I feel about her. It means the world to me."

"Whatever." She shrugs.

"So," I drag, "On the subject, where is she?" Her fingers begin to toy with the trim on the table, her lip pulling between her teeth- a nervous habit she obviously picked up from her sister. "I don't want to know?"

"She is just so stubborn." She says, like she has been waiting to tell someone. "She doesn't want to listen to my suggestions. Last night when I said we should ask to go inside the bakery, she refuses it, but almost dies trying to prove her point that she doesn't need help. And guess where she is?" She pauses. "Outside. She is going to get so sick, and I don't even know where to look for her. I don't think she wanted to be followed."

"You sound just like me with my brothers. Being the youngest sucks."

"Seriously."

"So, if you were your stubborn sister, where would you be in a wonderful winter blizzard day like today?"

"Probably down by the lake, right where the rocks come together. She says that she likes to watch the water lap over the rocks and see that they can survive the beating water." She explains, and with the reminder that it is freezing outside, I hurry to leave my seat.

"Peeta wait! Be careful. I know how to handle her when she's angry, but she's not angry. She just seems sad." _Depressed? _Is she going to do something she is going to regret? She has her sister. She is stubborn but not selfish.

"Thank you so much. And," I lower my voice, "if you want something to eat that tastes better than this, I have dinner on the table. The rest of the family is there."

She copies my whisper, "I hate seafood anyway." She grins and starts to pick up her bowl. As I leave, she gives me one more piece of advice. "Let her think she is making the decisions. Try that."

Once again I am following my _love guru's _advice, contemplating how to get to Katniss without being overbearing and pushing her over the edge.


	9. Chapter 8

In our town, the lights that run down Main Street are synchronized so that if you were waiting on one end and the light turned green, in theory, you wouldn't have to stop at all. This leads to quicker traffic and wasted tax money because we only have five stoplights.

When you enter the lineup at the northern part of town, closest to the lake, you are at the richer part of town, where the Mayor's yellow mansion is. Its driveway snakes far into the property where he has a private dock that is swimming distance from the lake hotel property. When you get to the end of the lights, you are in the poorest part.

My house is on the corner of the third light and Katniss used to live in the neighborhood adjacent to the fourth light furthest from the lake. We aren't too terribly different.

The lake is a few blocks down from where I live, and it's absolutely breathtaking in the summer. There is even a big hotel that past presidents have vacationed at. It's a huge white colonial structure complete with shutters that cover double-paned windows. The building is seated on a synthetic peninsula that's inlet is miles away.

It's covered in Christmas lights that glow in the night so it's easy to find across the water as I walk over the cold sand outlining the water.

Then I see her, covered with her leather jacket and boots. Her back faces the water and me. Instead, she is looking over the trees that cover the perimeter.

"Hey." I start, and she doesn't even flinch.

"I heard your footsteps. They're kind of hard to miss."

It's the eerie silence that always happens in the winter. It's almost like all living things have gone into hibernation and no one is snoring.

I laugh at her comment and quietly take a seat next to her, and begin to regret it when my pants get wet as I sit in the snow.

"Are you here to offer me money? I am not going to accept it." She whispers slowly under her breath, bringing her knees against her chest.

"Just to let you know," I wait for her to interrupt me. She doesn't. "I wasn't actually offering you money. I understand you aren't a fundraiser or a guitar case to throw money at. I was going to offer you a way to earn it. I already talked to my parents and we all want you to work at the bakery. You can work during my shifts with me if you want, if that makes you more comfortable."

"Okay." She concedes after a few minutes.

"Really? Awesome. So you can start whenever you want. See it's not too difficult to accept a little help." I say, trying to hide my excitement.

"Okay." _Okay? _Why is she not giving me a better answer, or at least saying thank you? It's so hard to get a job, especially as someone without a home, and I am giving it to her on a silver platter.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask, starting to get a little angry.

"It means shut up and thank you and go away and leave me alone."

"Thank you? For what?"

"You know and I know that I will get a lot worse if you don't keep saving me. You are always saving me. Like always."

"Like always?" I feel the skin crinkling between my eyes.

She sits up straight. "Don't be oblivious, Mellark. That's not going to work on me. I owe you so much already. I am beginning to think you like me owing you."

I take a breath. "Maybe. But not for the intentions you think. Just put yourself in my place. There is this beautiful girl that I have known since kindergarten starving and freezing right outside of my house. What would you do?" I argue, beginning to raise my voice just a little. "Of course I am going to help you. And of course I want to give you this so-called 'special treatment', because isn't that what you would do?"

"Peeta." She pleads.

"Katniss, life isn't about owing people. Sometimes there are just friendly people who do nice things expecting nothing in return." I explain, looking down as I rub my hands together as the snow bites at my fingers. "Do I sound arrogant for saying that? Do I feel that I am not always good enough? Yes and yes. Sometimes you just have to get up off your feet and accept that you need help. I need help a lot. I just asked Prim how to handle you, because she can _help me. _That's why we have friends and family and people who support us because we were not created to stand alone." I pause. "And to be honest with you Katniss, right now, you need help."

I look up at her after my speech, and she wipes her face. "I know." And in that moment, I go completely on instincts and move over next to her as she begins to weep.

"Oh Katniss." I say as I wrap my arm around her and she rests her head on my shoulder and continues to cry. She is frozen to the touch. I sit there with her for a few more minutes until I reach the resolve to get her inside to stay warm, for the second time today.

Her body slowly shakes as I hold her tight, readjusting my hold on her to be more comfortable.

She mumbles something against my shoulder as I run my hands against her braided hair. Her fingers clench my arm. "Huh?"

"Why do you have to be so nice?" She whispers.

"It's just what we do. People help the people." She smiles sadly. It's almost completely dark, and our breath stays stagnant floating in the air for too long.

"Okay. I'm done, I am not crying anymore." She lets out a shaky deep breath and stands up.

"You're freezing. Can I take you to the bakery? Your sister is there."

"Okay."

I walk with her down the street with my arm around her waist for support and to keep her a little warmer.

I'm not getting my hopes up, but I know that trust is a big thing in a relationship, and I think she trusts me.

* * *

><p>I push through the back door so she doesn't need to be seen puffy-eyed and helpless to the others.<p>

I seat her at the bench by the door when we walk in and I hurry to open the swinging door a few inches to see how the rest of the guests are doing.

It seems that the dinner went well overall. My dad has changed the usual soft background music to something peppier, the words to the pop song competing with the volume of their conversations. Their smiling faces are a satisfying surprise, when in their situation it's not always easy.

Their plates stay full as Prim and Hersh work together as the re-fillers. Prim holds a large bowl of noodles with tongs to spill on their plates, and Hersh has the sauce in the ladle, ready to pour over. The youngest of the Addison family, Reese, follows behind with a plate of garlic bread.

Crazy Cliff sits next to the window, smiling as one of the younger girls talks to him animatedly about the apple streusel my dad gave her the other day.

Lara, a young Hispanic woman, teaches her daughter to sit like a lady with good posture and the 'correct' plastic fork. The girl lets out a huff of air.

The lady who talked to me about the mural, named Sandra, sits by herself, just smiling.

Redheaded Patrick attempts to explain to Prim why he has to keep his legs shaved. I think he is begging her for money for a new razor.

Felipe is sitting by himself, holding his slice of French bread between his teeth to form a half-bitten smile.

Their conversations and warmth is literally fogging up the windows from the inside.

They are dirty, and have a distinct smell, but on the inside, a majority of them have clean fresh hearts yearning for a better situation.

I quietly shut the swinging door as I turn my attention to my next mission.

In the light that hangs over her, I can see how drenched her clothes are from sitting in the snow. I rub my hands up and down her arms after she pulls her jacket off. She scowls.

"Let's get your shoes off. I can grab you some socks and clean clothes. Dry too, my treat." I say out of breath.

She reluctantly nods as I lead her barefoot up the stairs. She demands that she can do it herself.

I plant her on the floor leaning against the couch, with her feet over the heater, thankfully blowing hot air out. The TV plays a commercial about a talking animal. She watches intensely.

I can't help thinking how unfair this is. That something like a commercial can seem so average to me and amazing to her. All because I was born into a stable family while, hers weren't so lucky. I can't help but pity her situation, and especially Prim's.

I get her warm and dry so that she stands in the middle of the living room with droopy sleeves. Her eyes are still rimmed red.

"Better?" I ask.

"Yeah."

She sits in a her chair at the kitchen table, and drape two blankets over her, cocooning her in cotton. With pleading hands, I tell her stay there as I run down the stairs to grab the plates Hersh set out for us, filled with food. Prim sees two plates in my hands and lets out a relieving breath.

I sit across from Katniss. We eat in silence.

I can hear my dad laughing below us as he talks with Hersh. I hear my name, and then hers.

I cover their conversation, even though her plate is empty. "So. How do you like your food?" Her eyes move from her plate to my chin, still eyes never meeting my gaze.

"You really need to stop feeding me. I feel like some zoo animal." She states sternly. "I just told you that I didn't want special treatment this morning."

"Everyone below got the same meal as you!" I explain, putting our plates in the sink. "You ate the exact same thing. Maybe you are warmer than they are and I freaked out and piled blankets on you because I didn't want a rerun of last night. Possibly, I am not as weird as hairless Pat down there. But this is not special treatment." I say, pouring two glasses of water for us both.

"Oh, I know that now," she says quickly with the smallest of a smirk. "I said that I didn't want anything especially for me. It's like in grade school where if you had a treat, you had to bring enough for the class. That's what you did, you fed the class." She brings the glass to her lips. "You outsmarted me."

"And guess what? I plan on outsmarting you many more times." I say with a smirk that matches the one she is trying to hide under her lips.

"You can try, but don't plan on succeeding."


	10. Chapter 9

My mom wasn't too thrilled when she saw her home and bakery messier than when she left. Both the girls sleeping over both the nights. Feeding an army of homeless. Extra showers. _Girls sleeping with boys._

Katniss actually falls asleep on one arm of the couch sitting up with her blanket cocoon to keep her warm. Prim passes out at her feet and I sleep on the other end of the couch, curling up to keep my feet out of Katniss's face.

The next morning, Katniss asks if she can sleep in one of the beds, so I let her. She sleeps all day while Prim helps me in the bakery downstairs. Dinner is interesting with Katniss still sleeping in Rye's bed and Prim at the dinner table. My mother takes a liking to Prim almost instantly. With her little voice and good manners, she hits the ball out of the park with my mom. She request to be excused from the dinner table then proceeds to wash off her plate.

She is turning in early, asking to sleep with her sister in the bed.

My parents and I still sit at the dinner table.

"How do you like Primrose?" My dad asks my mom as she continues to eat. Prim is brushing her teeth in the bathroom.

"She seems like a sweet girl. I really haven't talked with the other one. She has been asleep ever since I got back from Steven's." She says. Both my dad and I blown away at how laid back she is about the girls staying here without her consent.

"She's different, but a hard worker and very kind to the people she loves." I pitch in.

"And how would you know how _kind_ that is?" My dad teases me, half-jokingly.

"I have watched her with her sister, obviously." I defend.

"She better be a hard worker if she will be staying here." My mother says.

I nearly spit my food out of my mouth. Turning to my dad, he winks at me.

"Oh thank you Mom!" I say, trying to hide my excitement.

My dad gets up and pats my shoulder. "But if I see anything that looks like funny business, they are back on the streets. No exceptions." He says, "And don't tell the others. We are not becoming a shelter."

"I promise. No funny business." Unintentionally, I start to put the dishes in the dishwasher. My mind begins to wander about how to make their situation better. If they only can stay until they get their situation figured out, how long is that? Where is their mother now? There are two identical high-rise buildings that are north of where I live that are for assisted living. Is that where she is? Is she alive? Is she completely fine, holding a job and well equip to parent her children and Katniss just isn't being honest?

I drop a plastic cup in the sink and it splatters water over my shirt.

Seems like I will just have to ask her.

The next morning, at about seven, Katniss knocks on my door. She is dressed in new clothes, and showered, her hair down. _Is she doing that because she knows I like it like that? S_he is very, very awake. I sit up leaning my head against my headboard as I tell her she can come in.

She lingers in the doorway. "It's just my bedroom, not a dungeon. Come on." I tell her through a yawn. "How long have you been awake?"

"Since four." Her toes dig into carpet nervously.

"Seriously? Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Wake up an almost stranger in the middle of the night? That's not my forte." She answers. It's either a sarcastic remark or a jab at the fact that I had just done that to her a few days ago.

"Funny. Give me a second to wake up and I will make some coffee."

"Actually…Your mom already made me some. We talked this morning." I should have thought of that, my mom is always the first one awake.

"Oh really." I say, adjusting the pillow behind my back. She looks at me awkwardly when I do that and I can't help but smile at her pureness. "It's just a pillow. Come in here," I say motioning with my hands. "I don't want my mom to hear this next bit."

She pulls her hand away from the doorpost and takes three steps forward before settling on the floor about four feet from my bed.

"Was she pleasant? Did she say how long you guys can stay?" I ask.

"Yeah, she was. She said we can stay until I figure out what to do."

"How long is that?"

"I don't know." She starts to pick at the carpet, obviously ready to end the conversation.

I scroll on my phone, trying to hide that I keep looking up from it every few seconds to see her. My Dad bursts in a few minutes later and says this is funny business. I glare at him. "Seriously?"

"My house, my rules."

"Whatever." I turn to Katniss, "Do you want to get started in the bakery?"

She nods.

"Is _that_ appropriate?" I prod at my father.

He just shakes his head. "Just get down there kids. You know your mom hates working the register." He says staring at me.

I teach Katniss how to make some other bread, as she teases me that I need a new hobby beside memorizing recipes. Prim comes down around nine, eager to help. Prim helps me pass out food to the people lining the sidewalk. Katniss stays inside.

My mom says that Prim is underage and cannot work in the bakery. I shrug it off and explain she is as much family as anyone. Katniss smiles.

This goes on for a few days until we find ourselves at the dinner table, my parents still downstairs finishing up.

Prim attacks her tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwich as if it is going to bite her back. "I see the table manners are just an act for my parents." I laugh and she squints her eyes.

Her sister sits at the kitchen table staring blankly at an old family picture hanging on the wall.

"How old are you here?" She says getting up and moving closer to the wall. I follow.

"Well, Rye broke his arm in sixth grade, so that puts me at eight years old?" I say, eyeing the white cast on his right arm.

"You were so cute." She explains, the skin on her cheeks quickly turning pink as she realizes what she said. I know it's just the generic response to an old picture, but I can't help but feel flustered over the compliment also.

"You were cute too, then." I say, continuing her thought, "We must have been in third grade here?"

She nods.

"Mrs. Walton?" I ask.

"Yeah."

"That was the year Quentin bit off his tongue, right?" I laugh at the memory.

She chuckles. "I forgot about that. We were on the soccer fields when Margaret kneed him in the jaw."

"I can't believe that _she _did it. Wowza." I say.

Prim chimes into the conversation. "Margaret Thomas? Is she the one who?" She eyes her sister.

Katniss nods.

"Come on. You can't do the sneaky thing in front of me." I whine, suppressing a smile to Katniss's lips.

"She dated one of Katniss's friends. That's all." Prim says it as if it's the most well-kept secret in the universe.

I burst her bubble, "Gale Hawthorne. And that was like freshman year?" I ask casually.

Katniss nods with tight lips.

Gale Hawthorne. We never really talked; he was one of the upperclassmen that all the younger girls swooned at. Very reserved for such an intimidating person, standing over six feet tall with muscles like a professional athlete. He wasn't on the football team with me, and he didn't wrestle. So my theory is that he was born muscular. Everything I associate with him, is with Katniss, so, I can't help feeling biased toward him. They always were together, and I desperately envied that relationship.

Hersh tried to snap me out of my infatuation with her by saying they were dating. However, there was never hand holding, or even a quick hug exchanged, so I tried not to believe it.

Gale moved away a couple years ago because his mother couldn't take the guilt. His father was the drunk driver that killed the Everdeen's father.

I could say there is some tension between the two families, leaving both mothers widowed and their children fatherless.

I can hardly wait to change the subject.

"Do you want to go on a walk?" I ask, not specifically to either of the girls.

They exchange a look like my head just shifted backwards. "Are you crazy?" Katniss asks, squinting her eyes.

"A little, but it hasn't bothered anyone yet."

Prim is happy to go, but her sister calls us crazy and stays in the bedroom. I help her get some warmer clothes on. One of my scarfs, a jacket that Luke's wife left here when they were dating, and some boots that we picked up at a Goodwill a few days ago. I copy, and we enter the blizzard.

"This is ridiculous." I say, "I can't believe you agreed to this."

"I went more to just prove Katniss wrong and sometimes she needs some time to herself once in a while." She adds, "Keep that in mind."

Prim smiles and starts to skip in front of me in the winter glow. The sidewalks have been salted at least six times this week, so I am not worried that she is going to slip.

Since they started staying with us, Katniss has opened up to me, teasing me. Telling me I'm wrong. Responding in conversations with more than head nods and 'Okays.' In the bakery, she has even taken a liken to my mom, of all people. The woman who kicked her off our property, leaving her to die. The woman who gave me a nice slap to the face after I threw her the bread.

She asks about my family with genuine concern. _Could this be progressing?_

But I know she recoils when she thinks that she has gone too far. Her walls building up around her, caging her inside her own civil prison. I wonder if she is insecure about herself.

That's crazy.

Just to think that three months ago, I never thought that I would have a conversation with Katniss Everdeen, let alone have her sleeping in the same house as me. One of the nights, in the same bed.

"I will keep that in mind," I say finally.

A little over three weeks pass since the 'freezing' incident. After pointlessly scouring newspapers for places to rent, Sae offers her and Prim a bedroom. We get a tour of the place. And just like Hersh's house and my house, it's the same floor plan. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms.

The sunlight that shines through the small window paints the whole room a beautiful sunshine yellow, where I almost forget that gray snow still covers the ground. The view outside is the lake about a half mile away, and faces the trees that Katniss likes the most about the water.

She winces as Sae tells her what the rent is.

The down payment is just a little over what Katniss can afford now.

I turn her away from Sae to propose my idea. She wants this place so bad, I can see it in her eyes, in her steely gaze. "I can help with the little extra if you would like. Like a loan."

"I want to earn my money." She says, closing the door to that conversation, and pivoting back to Sae, her arm resting against mine. It shoots warmth to my stomach, almost butterflies. "I want it. Can I get you the down payment on Friday?"

"Sounds good to me girl."

This couldn't be a better situation. In a little less than a week, Katniss is going to be living just down the street from me. Baking by my side. If my plan works, we could be holding hands. Kissing soon.

Why do I feel so sick to my stomach?

We get back to the house, when I propose my idea.

Prim suggested it in the first place. "Let's celebrate. To financial happiness. To… satisfaction!" I say exuberantly, hiding the fact that I do not want her to go. To the fact that I wish time could stand still, or repeat the last couple of weeks over and over and over again.

"Okay. What are we going to do?" Katniss asks as Prim begins her rehearsed coughing fit.

"Let's just get in the car and go."

"Prim sounds like she is getting sick, maybe I should…"

"Really?" Prim interrupts. "I am definitely old enough to take care of myself, especially with just a cough." Prim says. This is her idea.

Years from now, she will make a great sister-in-law.

"If you say so." She turns to me. "Can we just go downstairs? That's _somewhere._"

"No." I repute. "Tell me some place that you have always wanted to go to, but never got the courage to?"

She thinks for a few moments, until tears well in her eyes.

"Hey, hey! This is supposed to be happy. "I say, running my hands down her arms, wishing I could pull her in a hug without her pulling away.

"I know where I want to go."

We get in my mom's car, and she directs me down different streets and turns and down two alleys. "Where are we going?" I ask, with one hand on the wheel.

She looks down at her lap. "It's right up here. Take your next left." The sky is darkening, the clouds covering the sky in a dark gray, blocking the sun. The pointless sun. I look at the temperature gauge in the car that says 10 degrees. I shiver. Katniss moves her arm up, "Right here. Turn here."

We follow a path that looks like something in a park, until the sidewalk starts to enclose tombstones and synthetic flowers.

She wants to visit her dad.

"You can stop here." I put it in park, and she takes a deep breath. "Just stay in the car for a second. It's not too far in, so don't get freaked out."

I turn the headlights her way, so I can see farther in. She disappears into the graveyard, her silhouette fading in the fog that has begun to set. The people are dead, but why do I feel so uncomfortable with this?

Passing the time, I try to find the tallest tombstone. Farthest one to the right. I count them, 138 above ground, the others are sporadically placed so I can't count them. My mind wanders to my grandmother, who is buried in Lamb Hill on the other side of town. She still has a pull on my decisions I make. She has made me a better person, even though she has been gone for almost four years.

Five minutes pass, then ten.

At twelve minutes, my legs are shaking and I am regretting not wearing my ski jacket. A gust of cold air freezes the tips of my ears as I open my door, the interior lights illuminating the walk, reflecting. I shut it quietly, leaving the keys in the ignition so the lights stay on.

I don't want to startle her, not in a place like this.

Using the flashlight on my phone, I shine it all around in search of my mourning co-pilot.

And once again, as if it is becoming the norm, I find her shaking in the cold, balanced on her feet as crouches down. Her fingers are tracing the carving on the stone, going over the name _Hunter Everdeen._

Staying in the shadows, I leave her peacefully, resting against an oak tree that has lost all its leaves. It's so dark. I wonder how she found his.

She stays crouched there, whispering as if he could hear her. She whimpers her cries. I can't help thinking that this is not celebrating.

Her voice loudens: "I found a place to stay. I have been at the Mellark's for a few weeks, they let me work in their bakery. The youngest son is really nice. I think he is a lot like you. You would have liked him." She turns her head, probably realizing her voice is getting louder.

_I heard it. _

I smile.

She whispers a conclusion to her one-sided conversation and turns to leave patting the curve edges of the stone.

I come out of the shadow, ready to make her feel better. She thinks I am nice, so isn't that the right thing to do?

"Hey," I whisper.

She startles. "Like the number one rule about a cemetery is to never to creep up to someone. Especially at night."

Her face is puffy and I go against my instincts and wrap my arms around her arms. She rests her head against my shoulder and leaves her body stiff.

I pull away, quickening my pace to get out of the cold. "Let's go to a place that makes us happy."

"Don't treat me like that. You have no idea how hard his death is."

"Sorry. I know. Sorry." I apologize.

She goes through the glove box and finds some Kleenex rolled up. "He died today, six years ago." She sniffles. "It's just hard."

"It's natural to cry. I bawled when my grandmother died, and that wasn't that long ago. And I am the guy." I think back to church, wanting to give her some reassurance. "Jesus cried, and he was perfect."

She nods.

We keep driving on my street until we pass my house and she directs me to go down an adjacent road.

_It's her street._

She's like a bad Tom-tom. She gives me directions only a couple feet before the turn. Good thing I know where she lives. I'm not so jolted.

Her house is definitely older than mine is. She lives in the historic sector of our town, some of the houses around it in great condition. Hers has not seen any repairs since the Everdeen father died. The chain link fence around the perimeter of the yard sags in places where the poles can't hold it up. The snow is piled in the corners with unraked leaves underneath from the previous season. It is still the same beige paint as years and years ago, cracking and peeling in spots. It's numbered 536 in chrome numbers.

She has walked up the vacant home's sidewalk before I can take off my seatbelt. I follow her up to the door.

Nothing stands out more than the white piece of paper taped to the door: _Foreclosure._

"Yeah it happened at the beginning of November. My mom couldn't pay the house payment so… Yeah. Here we are…at my old house." She leans down and begins to dig through the snow right next to the door like some kind of ground animal. She grabs a rock that is buried with a container glued to it, holding a key. "Let's see what's inside." She says confidently, putting the key in the door. It doesn't fit the lock. "Are you kidding?" She tries again, twisting the key upside down, turning it left and right, pulling the doorknob in and out. "Are you seriously kidding me?" She yells with her mouth close to the door.

"Is there a back door?" I ask, trying to calm her frustration.

"Yeah. We can try that."

"Even look through windows." I suggest.

Nothing works. The blinds are closed, the locks are all changed and the windows are sealed shut. She huffs in frustration.

"Come on." I say. "It's freezing. It's my turn to pick where we are going, somewhere with a heater. And somewhere where you won't cry."

"Is this some kind of game to you? Have you ever been locked out of your own home? Do you understand the frustration? Do you know what it feels like to live like this? I don't think you do Peeta." Her hands are moving violently in the air, as if she is trying to fan the flame of a forest fire.

And I realize I don't know what this feels like for her, I don't know how to comfort her in this mindset.

Prim's advice comes to me. _She needs some time to herself once in a while._

I maneuver myself out of the bush I am standing in and make my way to the car.

Throughout my life, my parents got along decently. Would I say they are soul mates? No. Would I say they tolerate each other? Yes.

I remember Samantha Hughes in second grade. Her parents owned a restaurant downtown, where many of the tourists would get coffee and cookies, sit out on the patio and enjoy downtown. The mother had light blonde hair and brown eyes. I had met her once, seeing her across the schoolyard when she went to go pick up Sam. She always had a nice hat on. The mother died of cancer.

I was in room 10, and she was in room 8. Our whole class decided to write _I'm sorry for your loss _cards and send them over to her, in hopes it would help. But the requirement and goal for the homework assignment was to just make her feel better. Some of my classmates drew pictures, some brought stickers from home to decorate the envelope.

I went home and asked my dad what I should do. He said, _"She probably loved her mom very much. You know when you do a puzzle and there ends up being a missing piece? That's what it will be like for her without her mother. She will cry, cuddle with her daddy, and watch reruns of cartoons."_ He dabbled chocolate frosting on my nose, wiping my tears of concern away with his clean hand. _"I think you should just be friends with her."_

So in my card, I included a coupon for a free pastry at the bakery, and that I wanted to be her friend, just as my Dad had said.

The next day, when we visited the other classroom, Katniss sat at the table next to her, surrounded by nine or ten other desks filled with children- their undivided attention on Samantha.

Sam and I had the same morning kindergarten class, and Katniss had it in the afternoon. We never crossed paths or were in the same room as each other. But there she sat, holding the crying girl's hand at school when the girl's cheeks turned red with embarrassment over the had on dress made of orange cotton, with flowers of a million kinds blooming all over the fabric.

My class lined up to give our cards to Samantha.

But instead, I ran to the back of the line, opening the envelope in a hurry. I scribbled with a crayon on the bakery coupon: **Bring a friend!**

Sealing up the envelope with my spit, I returned to the line, obviously gaping with an open mouth at the little girl with a brunette braid. With silver eyes that sparkled with glossy tears for her friend's sake.

I gave her the card, and smiled at Katniss. She smiled back with her front teeth missing, bringing both her hands to her cheeks as she rested her elbow on the table.

I gave Sam my warmest blanket too, to cuddle with her dad.

I realized in that moment how beautiful Katniss Everdeen was, with her chubby cheeks and her kindness and her hair and her selflessness.

So when Katniss was in my third grade class, no doubt, I was excited.

And even though Samantha brought her little sister with her for the 'bring a friend' scribble instead of Katniss, I felt good in my seven-year-old heart because I made her happy at the bakery.

Then _her_ dad died when we were freshmen, and I gave her a card, sliding it through the crack in her locker while she was in class. I didn't put my name on it.

Twelve years later, she is still that kind. Sometimes.

She gets in the car a few minutes later, buckling her seatbelt without a word.

"I'm buying you dinner." I say putting the car in gear before she can refuse.

We pull into a drive-thru and get cheeseburgers, in an attempt to cheer us up from the low we are in.

"Smile." I suggest. "It releases endorphins that make you happy."

"Chemical reactions." She says, as if I am an idiot.

"You like science, right?" I say wiping ketchup off the side of my mouth with the back of my hand. I lean my chair back, adjusting my hands to behind my head casually. She has the window cracked on her side, and I am wondering if her nervous system works. Can she _feel _the cold?

It feels weird without Prim here to tease us. My poor wingman fake sick back at the house. And once again, I get the nagging feeling that this is another date.

"Yeah. It was my favorite subject."

"Hersh Addison. He was in your chemistry class, right?" She tilts her head, resting it against the seat belt.

"Yeah." She drags. "How'd you know?"

_Katniss Everdeen, there is so much I know._

I start. "Can I tell you a story?"

"You are going to tell me anyway so, shoot."

"So eager." I laugh nervously and continue, "Do you remember Sam Hughes?"

"Samantha? Yeah. What about her?"

I should stop. If I blow this moment, she is going to think I'm a stalker, which, is actually true. It makes me sick.

"She was nice." I say.

"Oh." She states, confused. "Is there more to the story?"

"Remember when her mom died?" I explain how I went home and asked how to make her feel better, and the card. "You were in her class then."

"Yeah, I was."

"You wore a dress with flowers on it. I remember standing there in the line thinking, 'She is the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.' And the rest is history."

When we get back, Prim is asleep on the couch with some reality show playing on the TV.

"Just leave her. She's fine." I do as Katniss says, putting a blanket over her as she repositions herself on the couch. Her sister kisses her cheek and I get the shivers imagining what that would feel like on me.

We say goodnight before going into our rooms. I fall asleep almost instantly, forgetting to take my shoes off. It's a blissful sleep. I dream of a wedding, the edges of the memory fuzzy. The nameless bride walks down the aisle, her gown coming to just below her feet, cascading on the ground in white fabric waves.

I wake up a few hours later to a scream, and the sounds of thrashing. Jumping up, I bolt to Rye's bedroom door. It's locked. I can still hear her screaming as I fumble with the key that is above the doorframe. Who is in there? What's happening? My dad comes out of his room startled, he narrows his eyebrows.

"Is this appropriate? She's screaming!" I say in a hurry, opening the door to see her tangled in the sheets. "Hey! Hey! Katniss!" I beg. I grab both her shoulders to turn her over. Her eyes are closed, her forehead covered in a sheen of sweat. Getting only inches away from her ears, I yell. "Wake up!" Her eyes bolt open, untangling her arms from the sheets and reaching up for me like a baby wanting out of her crib.

"Oh God."

"It's okay, it's okay. It's going to be okay." I plead. "Do you want me to get Prim?"

"No." She says firmly.

"Glass of water? Some food? Some socks? Another blanket? How can I help you?"

"I think," she says, catching her breath. "I'm good."

"Okay."

My dad waits in the hallway for me. He raises his eyebrows. "Yep." I say, before walking back in my room.

I stay awake, waiting for her screams again.

I don't know how much time passes, but the sky is starting to stretch a little color over the dark as the sun makes its entrance. I move my pillows and blankets into the hallway, putting my head against her shut, unlocked, door. Two minutes later, I hear her whimpering.

My dad walks out of his bedroom down the hall, irritated.

I look at him sternly and pretend to draw an x over my heart. _I cross my heart. _To show him that I won't do anything stupid. To show him he can trust me. I am 19 years old.

He draws a slice on his neck. I know what it means. No funny business. Then he nods, turning around and shutting his door to try to get a few more hours of sleep. I take a deep breath and wake up Prim. I explain that her sister is having an attack.

"She hates me in there when those happen." She reinforces before almost instantly falling right back to sleep.

I groan. Katniss is going to kill me for what I am about to suggest.

Opening the door, she sits up, leaning her head against the backboard. The hallway light illuminates half of her face, her palms pressing into her eyes.

I walk in and sit myself on the edge of the bed, my butt touching her feet. She has her knees up to her chest.

"Hey, Hey. It's okay."

She moves her hands away to look at me, and I flash a tired grin. She puts her hands back over her eyes.

In biblical times, the walls surrounding an ancient city were their main defense system. The walls were ten feet tall or higher, sturdy. But the only weakness in the structure was the wood door that let safe people in with deliveries and to the farms outside the wall. They would put most of their interior soldiers as guards over the vulnerable entrance.

Katniss' walls are crumbling, the guards are scrambling to guard the door.

"Can you please just go." She states.

"No."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to help you. Remember down by the lake? Tell me what's wrong. I just wantto _help_. Please." I insist.

She scowls at me, her palms still pressed to her cheeks. We sit silent for a few moments.

I take my time scanning Rye's room. He decided on a dark blue color, the same shade as Jimmy Johnson's jacket. That was the only decoration my mom would let him decide on. She didn't like unneeded nail holes for picture frames or shelves, or mismatching bedspreads. The rug my mom bought matches perfectly, accenting as charcoal gray.

As he left for college, he said that he didn't see the point in bringing all of his teenage decoration to college with him. He was "growing up". New lifestyle, new scene. So still on his wall are his five, six, or seven posters, hung with duct tape, of Jimmy Johnson, his NASCAR god. He basically worshipped him from the time he broke his arm. I study each of them as if I have never seen any of them before, as the bed continues to stay still.

"Please just go." She says.

I shake my head, "It helps to voice your feelings sometimes."

"Thanks for the advice Mister touchy-feely. Now I am trying to go to sleep."

The same thing happens again the next night. My mom complains to her in the bakery about how, honestly, she can't get any sleep.

On the third night, in my bed, I lay uncomfortably on my back as I use my pillow to muffle her cries. My dad is getting irritated, and my mom is at her breaking point. We all can't sleep. Then it stops. I hear the door moving on its hinges and the soft footfalls down the stairs out the back door. She doesn't pass by my window. She doesn't turn on the porch light. She doesn't wake up her sister.

Where is she going?

I follow, once again.

"What is wrong with you?" I shout across the road, cringing.

"What do you care?" She snaps back, continuing away from me. My feet stomp across the road, as I rush toward her. "Stop acting liking you actually care."

"Acting? Nothing I am doing is fake. All my intentions are real and true. I _do _care."

"This is what I mean! You are too much like him!"

Your father." I say, the pins off the lock lining up. This is why she is shutting me out. "That's good, right?"

"He's dead Peeta! And you aren't!"

"Is that a bad thing that I am too much like him? That's why you keep pushing me away because you can't stand being around me when you need it. Am I a painful reminder of your dad?" I ask.

"Yes! Yes! It makes me remember how much I miss him. How much he-." She struggles over the word.

"How much he loved you?" I ask calmly, pausing for a few seconds to catch my breath.

"My mom hates me." She admits. "I pushed her and pushed her. When I went to my old house with you, she _was_ there. She didn't say anything, she hardly acknowledged I was there. She didn't unlock the door. She didn't even move her eyes to me, she just flinched when I pounded on the door. I don't have any family here, beside Prim and she is struggling just as much as I am. She isn't even in school and I don't want to take her to register because the school district already knows my family and they will put her in a home because 'where is her mother?'" She buries her feet into the snow. "No one likes me, beside you."

My feet are so close to hers that I tap the front of my shoes to her toes. I take my hands and put them to her face, the gaps between my ring and middle finger around her ears.

"Stop that." She says, shaking her head. I keep them there.

"Katniss. I remember Delly. Delly Cartwright, the shoe store's daughter. She told me that she wanted to be your friend because of what you did with Sammie. I remember Hersh saying that you were something amazing with how you took care of your sister when your mom went crazy." I pause, using my thumbs to wipe her rapidly falling tears. "I _know_ your sister. She told me that you are the best sister that she could ever hope for. That even though you are stubborn, and like to sit in the snow for unreasonable amounts of time, she never, _never_ questions the fact that you love her. You take care of so many people. The only person you neglect is yourself. So many people love you."

"Nobody loves me," Her eyes focusing on my zipper, sniffling her tears away.

"You are so wrong," I explain, wrapping my arms around her waist. "Do you hear me? You are so wrong." I run my hands up and down her back and she rests her head against my shoulder, her tears wetting my sleeve. I whisper, "That day in second grade that I talked about before, that was the day. That was the day that I decided something. I went home that afternoon, asking my dad different advice from before. This time, I asked him about Katniss Everdeen, the girl I promised in my heart to keep safe. You are so kind and so passionate and so." Her eyes meet mine for a few seconds. "You are so loved. Maybe not by a whole town or city, or your family. You are loved by me, and that should make up for every other imbecile that doesn't."

She's a mess, her tears have turned to sobs and I have never seen a girl so wrecked and destroyed. Her snot is rolling down her chin, her brown hair sticking to her forehead.

On the inside, I am having a civil war. I just connected my heart with my brain, and said that I loved her. _I love her. _That is important. That is very, very important. Was that the right time, when she is falling apart in my arms? When she is at her weakest?

She shows me different when her arms wrap around my neck, her lips lightly rubbing against my neck as she gives into me on this cold winter day in the middle of the night, the hedge lining the Morgan's insurance company yard scratching my back.


End file.
